Cynophobia
by Khait Khepri
Summary: No child starts out afraid of dogs. However, Heymans Breda has a very good reason to be afraid of the four-legged 'monsters' and this is why. One-shot, manga and FMA2003 compliant


Title: Cynophobia

Summary: No child starts out afraid of dogs. However, Heymans Breda has a very good reason to be afraid of the four-legged 'monsters' and this is why. One-shot, manga and FMA2003 compliant

Rating: T (non-graphic violence, mild blood)

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. This is merely for entertainment purposes.

.

Heymans could vaguely remember the very first time he'd met a dog. It had not been a scary dog despite how large the Golden Retriever had been in comparison to him. He'd been merely four at the time and despite the fact he had since come to be terrified of dogs, he still remembered old Gina kindly… and pointedly assumed there was no dog remotely as kind as Gina could possibly be ever again. Gina had, in fact, been terribly sweet to the point that every child in his hometown had adored her. She'd belonged to the greengrocer on Maple Street and had often napped in the sun along the wooden porch out front of Mister Wilshire's store.

However, she'd been ten years old when he'd first met her and had never been anything other than that utterly placid dog happy to get pats and scratches from any who passed by. Two years later, though, she died and Heymans had cried like every other child in town the moment he'd learned of the news. He'd been inconsolable, his mother hugging him and being with him while he stared at the mound of dirt Mister Wilshire had buried her under with a smart little stone as a grave marker depicting her name and the years she'd lived like she'd been a real person. She'd been buried in his back yard and every child that had adored the animal had come by to see the grave before crying and running along.

Heymans had not had really any other encounters with dogs other than Gina when a new pair of dogs had come to town, brought by a man who seemed somewhat mean and did not like children much. His dogs were brown colored, one light like caramel and the other darker, and Heymans had later learned the pair to be defined as 'mutts', a kind of dog that was not a specific breed.

If Billy Thornton was a nasty fellow, his dogs were unfortunately worse. And it soon became clear they liked to chase things, and Heymans remembered _clearly_ the time they'd chased _him_.

The seven year old had been minding his business, admittedly rushing a bit down the street towards the schoolhouse as he'd gotten up a bit late. He puffed along, cheeks red and satchel containing his homework thumping against his leg. He had passed Thornton's house and had not paid any mind to the two dogs on his porch. They, however, had paid mind to him and had bounded off the porch after him and barking furiously. Hearing the noise, the chubby boy had hesitated for half a step and looked over his shoulder only to see flashing fangs and hearing thunderous barks. Fear filled him because those snapping teeth looked incredibly sharp and the dogs didn't look nearly as kind as Gina had. Squealing in terror, he ran as hard as he could rather than the trot he'd done moments ago.

Fleeing from the chasing dogs had been hard and he certainly didn't get away from them as they were much faster and much more economical in their method of running. Terrified, he was bowled over and screaming while covering his neck and face with his hands, he felt the dogs pounce him and snap and snarl. One such snap landed a bite on his arm and he screamed even louder as blood flowed and another bite landed in a similar spot right next to where he'd been bitten seconds ago.

Thankfully, he was rescued by some adults. Among them, Mister Wilshire had come with a gun and Mrs. Beaumont a broom. The mother whacked away one dog only to get turned on. A sharp crack of Mister Whilshire's pistol later had the caramel colored dog on the ground dead and the other running. Wilshire's eyes were worried as he knelt down next to the trembling boy.

"Son? Son? Can you hear me?" Heymans slowly came out of his terrorized haze slightly and felt both pain and didn't hear anything past a ringing echo in his ears of the blood rushing through him. "Heymans! C'mon, lad. The dogs aren't gonna get you anymore." Uncurling and feeling the pain in his arm, blue eyes peered out of his protective embrace of his head and into the man's brown eyes.

"Mister… Wilshire?" he whimpered before feeling the blood sliding down his arm and the pain ratchet up. He watched the greengrocer relax slightly and heard the people around him calling to get the other animal so it could be put down, too. Mrs. Beaumont also came forward.

"I'm gonna go get your momma, sweetie. You go with Mister Wilshire to the doctor, okay? We gotta get that bite taken care of." Her words were soothing and the red-haired boy nodded before standing slowly with Wilshire's aid. He saw the gun and his eyes panned about to see the dog dead and in a pool of blood.

"No worries, lad. That dog won't bite you anymore," assured the older male, taking Heyman's shoulder as the boy clasped at his wound. It was like walking about in a fog. He felt dazed and looked up.

"I gotta get to school, sir. I can't…" He faltered when Wilshire chuckled wryly.

"I think Miss Fanny won't mind you missing today. Come on, lad."

Heymans was escorted to the small clinic in town and immediately set on by both the doctor and his frantic mother who burst through the doorway with wild eyes and frizzy red hair flying out behind her like a trail of flame, Mrs. Beaumont on her heels and trying to soothe the woman from having a fit. As the doctor cleaned and tended the wound, his mother fussed over him and smoothed at his short crop of matching red hair.

"Oh, my baby," fretted the woman. "Wanda told me everything that happened. They found that other dog, too." The maliciously satisfied tone indicated the fate of that darker brown animal but Heymans didn't read that much into it. Her eyes darted to the doctor. "What are the chances of rabies?"

"They are definitely possible," admitted Doctor Adler. "Were the dogs showing signs?"

"No, not really," Mrs. Beaumont said before huffing in irritation. "'Course, that Thornton is throwing a walleyed fit over the fact his dogs were killed. Said they weren't harmful at all." She gave Heymans's mother a flat look. "I suggest you force him to pay the bill. I suspect he trained them up to be attack dogs. Brutal sorts like that are a menace to our kids." She had a three year old daughter and a six year old son, so she was justifiably concerned.

Heymans's mother nodded. "Yes." She looked down at her son, her brown eyes worried. "Come on, sweetie. I think today you get to skip school."

"But I have to turn my homework in," mumbled the boy.

"Well, if you give me your bag, I'll turn your homework in," offered Mrs. Beaumont with a smile. "How's that sound?"

He smiled at her sheepishly, cradling his injured arm to his chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont."

"No problem, sweetie. And I'll bring some pie over later. I was b-" She paused and paled. "Oh, I left the oven on!" Hurriedly, she took the bag and ran, leaving the Bredas to their own devices.

And that was how he'd first learned that dogs were not all nice like Gina. Naturally, he grew very wary about canines after that. The marks on his arm healed to the point that unless you knew what to look for you didn't see them, but the trauma of that day lingered. And, as young children are often wont to do, if something scares them sufficiently enough they remain fearful of it.

But it wasn't Thornton's two dogs that pushed his wary and understandable fearfulness into a full-blown phobia. That had occurred _because_ of his leeriness. No matter what kind of dog he encountered, he always felt a little tinge of fear and the dog would pick up on that, barking noisily and growling at him. As he was a child, he didn't understand why every dog other than Gina was so mean and his anxiety only grew.

Which made it hard for him to be around the friends that _did_ have dogs as he got older.

"C'mon, Heymans!" laughed Patrick Quinn, his best friend for the last three years. "Molly ain't gonna hurt ya. She's just a little terrier." Heymans, however, solidly disagreed with that assessment. Even a little dog could bite. The thirteen year old stared apprehensively at the wiry haired little dog that was staring right back at him, growling faintly. "She just doesn't know you!"

The red-haired chubby teen frowned at those words, knowing how deceptive a dog could be. He'd not expected those two to bite at him and he still had the evidence on his arm where one _had_ bit him. "I don't like dogs," he insisted. Patrick frowned at him and watched as the chunkier teen shifted to move away. Molly's growl increased in volume.

"Molly!" barked the other teen, his brown eyes flashing. The terrier's growling didn't lessen.

"I should just go."

"If you give her just a _bit_ of time…" The wheedling made Heymans sigh.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." At first, things went well enough and Patrick even dragged Molly up into his arms, scratching behind triangular ears as beady brown eyes stared at the still-wary Heymans in warning. They did their homework at the table and even began playing chess. The chubby redhead loved chess and was growing to be rather proficient at it. That was when Patrick offered an idea.

"Like I said, she's not so bad," he assured before popping the little dog on the head when she went to offer a warning growl again. "You could let her know your scent."

Heymans arched a brow with a frown. "That's not a good idea."

"Sure it is!" Patrick did not understand his fear of dogs even knowing he'd been bit in the past thanks to tales carried by Heymans. "Just hold your hand out like this…" He put his hand out over the table, fingers down and not immediately able to be bitten. "That way it doesn't look like you're trying to threaten her or grab at her. She can sniff your hand." Heymans wasn't sure if it was matcho pride or just willingness to humor his friend, but he did as requested and held out his hand as indicated towards Molly. Her growling increased in volume and the chubby teen's wariness and distress grew.

It was unsurprising when the pieces to the chess board scattered and Heymans was sent howling in pain when Molly sank all-too sharp teeth into his knuckles. She was quickly pulled off, her teeth having barely sliced the skin though the wounds bled freely, and Patrick was between apologizing profusely to Heymans who cradled his bleeding hand and chasing Molly off though the little dog tenaciously went after ankles as well the moment she fell to the floor.

Heymans ran and he didn't care if it was from a tiny dog he could boot. His fear gripped him, sending him scrambling for the door and out it in such short order that it seemed he had practically vanished from the Quinn house.

His friendship with Patrick had been ruined by Molly. His parents didn't put the dog down for attacking Heymans, saying that it was likely his fault and he'd antagonized her. Patrick had a weak spine and didn't protest overmuch to this assessment. Heymans just refused to go back there.

And like that, he was firmly convinced all canines were to be kept away from. When he was in his thirties, he had been a part of the military for some time. His chubbiness had extended into actually being fat though he was somewhat muscular underneath the soft middle. He even got a beard, albeit a scruffy one, and his hair was trimmed even shorter, resembling a buzz cut. It was raining and he'd not thought much of it as he stomped up the steps of Eastern Command, black oilcloth trench doing little to keep him completely dry. He entered the office, shucked the coat, and proceeded to where he'd spend the majority of his day.

Within the office, however, was his most ancient of enemies in a new incarnation.

Hawkeye had gotten there first, yet she wasn't the one that frightened him at that moment. Falman was also there and Havoc, Fuery, and Mustang weren't in sight. Soon enough, Havoc appeared as well and everyone stood staring fixedly at the small fuzzy black and white puppy on the floor that stared back up at them with bright eyes.

All Heymans could think was, _'Oh, hell. Who brought that little monster?'_

Oh, he knew he was being irrational. He knew that not all dogs were evil but he'd gotten more bites than just from Molly and from one of the dogs of Thornton's. They'd thankfully not been on his hands or had drawn blood, but it was still mightily distressing when a dog sank its teeth into his pants cuff. Most of the time, they just merely liked to come and investigate him. This dog didn't seem to be evil, far from it considering the fact he was - from a purely theoretical standpoint - cute and not too ferocious looking. Oh, he didn't have distress looking at pictures of dogs or even if he saw a dog appropriately pinned up and well away from him. Dogs barking made him jumpy and being closer than three meters without visible barriers made him antsy. It was all well and good that Fuery had been the 'kind' person and rescued the pup. It was all well and good the dog was eventually handed over to Hawkeye. At least he didn't have to get close to it and at least he didn't have to care for it. It was a relief to get from the office that day and he ran back to his dorm with nary a thought about the wet streets. He went back to his dorm, shut the door, and took solace in the fact that dogs weren't allowed within the halls.

All Heymans Breda knew was that he was deathly afraid of dogs and as far as he was concerned he had very legitimate reasons. And he did not care one whit if it was 'curable' or any such thing. He didn't care. No, he was just going to stay here and hidden and _safe_ away from monstrous dogs with pointy teeth and a tenacity to try and bite him.

He didn't sleep very well that night.

.

.

.

Author's Note: As someone that has been actually bitten by a dog - and in the face no less - I can perfectly understand Breda's phobia. I _had_ that phobia. For years I was leery of small dogs for that's what bit me so horribly as a child. I still, in fact, carry the scars. I can even admit to the irrational belief that I felt larger dogs less dangerous because I expected they'd be less likely to continuously attack than small dogs. Not sure if this is true or not, but I did believe it. Now, my phobia is cured but I am still watchful towards them. The one other time that I got bit by a dog and had real blood drawn, it put me into a panic attack and scared me to the point of tears. A dog bite that occurred when I was nine shook my world so badly that I had a terrible breakdown in my twenties from a minor bite.


End file.
